


A Bundle of Love

by RayBen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Kid Fic, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Mystrade Valentines Calendar 2018, Romance, Surrogacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-11 12:49:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13524612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RayBen/pseuds/RayBen
Summary: Greg realises there is something missing in Mycroft's life and he wants more than anything to see him receive it.





	A Bundle of Love

**A Bundle of Love**

 

“Well that hit the spot,” proclaimed Greg as he put his knife and fork down on his now empty plate.  He pushed his chair back from the table slightly and patted his now full stomach.

“Mmm…yes….delicious,” Mycroft replied distractedly, his attention obviously elsewhere.

Greg followed Mycroft’s gaze across the crowded café to see what had captured his attention so fully.  He was slightly surprised to see that Mycroft was staring at a young woman who had a tiny baby cradled in her arms.  The baby, Greg guessed it was a boy judging by the amount of blue, couldn’t have been more than a few weeks old.  His little pink face just about visible from within the bundle of blankets.  The woman had the look of a new parent, the slight pallor under her eyes suggesting sleepless nights, but she was gazing at the baby with a look of utter adoration.  Greg remembered what it had been like when his girls were newborns, that rush of intense love that even a full month of sleepless nights hadn’t been able to diminish.  Looking back at Mycroft he couldn’t miss the slightly sad, wistful look upon his husband’s face.

Greg cleared his throat softly, breaking Mycroft out of his reverie.  He turned his attention back to Greg, “I’m sorry Greg, I was miles away, what where you saying?”

“Is everything okay love? You’ve hardly touched your lunch. Something on your mind?”

Mycroft fussed with his cutlery, laying it on his plate of half eaten food, before replying, “I’m fine darling, just a little distracted with some work issues.”

Greg knew when he was being lied to but he decided to let it drop, for now. After chatting for a few more minutes the couple settled their bill and headed back to their respective workplaces.

 

* * *

 

Greg stood on the top step outside the house, phone wedged between his shoulder and chin, struggling to extricate his keys from his coat pocket and hold on to the bag of groceries at the same time.

“Jen, just give me 2 seconds to get inside the house,” he said as he finally managed to get the front door open.

Moving in to the kitchen he set the bags up on the counter and slumped down on a stool, “right, I’m inside now and the eggs are safe, tell me again what’s happening.”

As Greg listened to his daughter’s words Mycroft appeared at the kitchen door.  Greg gave him a smile and mouthed ‘Jenny’ at him whilst gesturing to the phone.  Mycroft returned the smile and started to put the groceries away.

“Okay, okay,” said Greg into the phone, “well do you want to come and stay with me and Mycroft that weekend, save you having to pay for a hotel room?”

Greg walked over to the wall calendar and flipped forward to February, tapping his finger on the 10th he gave Mycroft a questioning look.  Mycroft took out his phone and quickly swiped through to his diary before giving Greg an affirmative nod.

“Of course it’s okay with us,” Greg replied to his daughter, “we love having you come to stay.”

Greg took a pen and jotted down a few details as Jenny outlined her plans for the weekend, “and do you think you might be able to squeeze in a quick dinner with your old dad during this weekend, or are we just good for bed and board?” he teased. “Okay sweetie, we’ll see you on the 10th. Love you.”

Greg finished his call and placed his phone down as Mycroft stole up behind him and wrapped his arms around Greg’s midriff.

“I was going to ask if I should clear my schedule completely, but it sounds like her weekend will be fairly busy,” Mycroft noted.

“Yeah, she’s coming down with the college and they seem to have the whole weekend scheduled out,” sighed Greg, “She said she might be able to grab a bite to eat on Sunday morning before they head back.”

“And the college will be okay with her staying here?”

“Yeah the kids are having to pay for their own accommodation so they don’t mind if they have an alternative.”

“Well at least that’s something, we’ll see her in the evenings and mornings at least,” reasoned Mycroft.

“And you’re sure you don’t mind?” Greg asked.

“Of course not Gregory, I love getting a chance to see both of your girls. I’m just sorry neither of them can visit more often. I know you miss them both terribly.”

Greg turned in Mycroft’s arms and put his arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

“I love you Mycroft, and I love that you understand how important my girls are to me.”

Mycroft returned the kiss before replying, “I love you too sweetheart.”

 

* * *

 

Greg got back to the house after seeing Jenny off at the train station and headed straight for the study to find his husband. When he opened the door Mycroft took one look at his red-rimmed eyes and jumped up to envelop him in a huge hug.

“Oh sweetheart, it’ll be okay. We’ll see her soon, I promise.” Mycroft said as he ran his hands up and down Greg’s back.

Greg pulled back and gave Mycroft a watery smile, “I know, it’s just hard to say goodbye and send her off into the big bad world.”

“Greg, she’s an amazing young woman with a good head on her shoulders.  She will be absolutely fine. You should be very proud of her.”

“I know, and I am, it’s just she’ll always be my baby,” Greg sniffed and buried his head in Mycroft’s shoulder again, “I can still remember the day we brought her back from the hospital.”

Mycroft shifted them until they were in front of the sofa and sat down, pulling Greg with him. He brought his hand up to wipe the tears from Greg’s cheek, “Tell me about it.”

“Jenny was such a tiny little thing. Claire was two at the time and she still seemed like such a baby, so when I was handed this precious little bundle to hold she felt impossibly fragile.” Greg smiled wistfully as he reminisced.

“I felt the same when Sherlock was born,” Mycroft spoke, “when Mummy came home from the hospital she let me hold him. I was petrified that I would hold him too tightly and hurt him or that I wouldn’t hold him tightly enough and he would fall.”

Greg listened without responding. Mycroft rarely spoke about his childhood and he didn’t want to interrupt and risk him stopping.

“He was such a beautiful baby, he had the most gorgeous mop of curls even then. I used to sit for hours by the side of his crib reading to him.”

“What did you read to him,” asked Greg softly.

“Oh anything and everything, just whatever I was reading at the time, Shakespeare, Dickens, Milton,” answered Mycroft.

Greg couldn’t help but let out a laugh, “Milton? Really, for a baby?”

“Well yes, perhaps I didn’t give too much thought as to the age appropriateness,” Mycroft replied, “I was a bit of a precocious child so didn’t stoop to the usual _children’s_ literature.”

“I’m sure it didn’t matter what you read,” Greg mused, “he probably just liked the sound of your voice.”

“Yes well, unfortunately that is no longer the case, I imagine I’m the last person Sherlock would choose to listen to now,” replied Mycroft shortly.

Greg sighed, it was almost as if he could see the shutters coming down in Mycroft’s mind. He knew better than to push it, just relishing the fact that Mycroft had opened up even a little about his childhood.

 

* * *

 

 Greg was working his way steadily through his email inbox on a dreary Wednesday morning when his work phone rang.  He was more used to Jenny calling him in a panic so when he realised that the daughter sobbing down the phone to him was Claire he was on high alert,

“Sweetheart, what is it, I can’t understand what you’re saying.”

He heard Claire taking a deep breath, struggling to get her breathing under control before dissolving in to another bout of tears.  Finally he managed to get her to calm down enough to explain that she’d mucked up royally in work, had managed to delete a year’s worth of confidential documents from her computer, was never going to get them back and was about to lose her job.  It was very unlike Claire to fall to pieces like this so Greg knew it was definitely something serious.  As he tried to calm her down he grabbed his mobile and frantically texted Mycroft.

_Can you ring Claire in 5 mins? Emergency at work which I can’t even start to help with._

He received a reply instantly

_Of course._

Greg explained to Claire that he was going to hang up but that Mycroft would be ringing her to see what he could do.  Still sniffing and letting out the occasional sob Claire said her goodbyes and hung up.

Greg spent the next 20 minutes pacing the office and checking his phone every 2 minutes.  Finally a text came through.

_Crisis averted. Claire still employed and documents recovered._

Greg breathed a sigh of relief.

_My hero. Seriously thank you so much. Did you get a table booked for tonight?_

_Yes, Cinnamon Club 8pm, for our ‘date night’ as you insist on calling it. I thought being married to you would mean I no longer had to ‘date’._

Greg grinned, he knew Mycroft looked forward to their regular Wednesday night dinner out just as much as he did.

 

* * *

 

As they took their seats in the restaurant Greg winked at Mycroft, “So Mr Superhero, however can I repay you for your gallant actions?”

“Really Gregory, all I did was put her on with my IT specialist, he was able to explain how to retrieve the documents in a matter of minutes.” Mycroft replied.

Greg knew he was just being modest, “Oh give over, you’re my hero and you can bet you’re Claire’s hero now too.”

An adorable blush tinted Mycroft’s cheeks, “Yes well, she was rather effusive in her praise. In fact she rang me this afternoon to thank me all over again.”

“Oh Christ, I’m sorry love, do you want me to tell her to calm it down a bit?”

“You will do no such thing,” Mycroft retorted, “It’s actually, well it’s quite nice to chat to her, we’ve never really done that before.”

“You know both my girls love you Mycroft?” Greg reassured him, “They’re always asking about you.”

“They are amazing young women, Gregory, and they’ve always been so kind to me, but I can’t help but think how strange it must have been for them when you told them about me,” said Mycroft, “I’m sure it was a shock to learn their father had suddenly fallen in love with a man.”

“You know what kids are like nowadays,” Greg replied, “they don’t think in such black and white terms.  It’s not just a case of gay or straight anymore.  As for my girls, they’ve always been quick to tell me that the only thing that matters is that I’m happy. And well, I’ve never been happier than I have been since I met you.”

Mycroft  nodded his head in agreement and he gripped Greg’s hand across the table.

“I mean it sweetheart,” Greg insisted, “our wedding day was the happiest day of my life…well that and the days the girls were born.”

At those last words Mycroft’s expression fell slightly and he withdrew his hand from Greg’s, lifted his water glass and took a sip.

Greg took a deep breath, there was something he’d been wanting to ask Mycroft for a few weeks and it felt like now or never,

“Mycroft, did you ever.. I mean we never really discussed it….but did you ever, did you want to have children?” Greg finally managed to stutter out.

Mycroft’s expression grew solemn but just as he was about to reply the waiter arrived to take their order.  Once they’d made their choices Mycroft tried to change the subject.

“So you didn’t tell me what happened with the Gilmore case. Was there a resolution?” he asked.

“No, no, no. C’mon Mycroft, talk to me, did you ever want children?” Greg pressed.

Mycroft let out an aggrieved sigh, “It’s a moot point Gregory. You know you were my first ever serious relationship, even if I had wanted children before it was never on the radar.  And well now I feel it’s not something that needs to be considered.”

“Why does it not need to be considered?” asked Greg

“Really Gregory, is it not obvious. For one thing we are both far too old to be parents, and for another we clearly lack a key piece of biological equipment.”

“Bullshit!” Greg exclaimed, “You’re 43 and I’m 50, we are definitely not too old. Sure look at Mick Jagger, he’s just had another kid and he’s in his seventies. As for the ‘biological equipment’ as you term it, there’s adoption or surrogacy.”

Mycroft looked at Greg in exasperation, “Why are we even talking about this. You already have two grown up daughters. Surely you don’t want to go back to sleepless nights and changing nappies?”

“We’re talking about it because it’s important and I think it’s something that’s been on your mind lately. And yes the first few years can be tough but they’re nothing compared to the rewards you get from seeing your children grow up.” Greg paused and took a sip of his drink before continuing, “ Look all I’m saying is that if this was something you wanted, I would be open to it.”

Mycroft didn’t reply but Greg could see that he was processing the information.  At that moment their meals arrived and Greg immediately tucked in to his dinner of king prawns in mango sauce. Glancing up he realised that Mycroft had made no move to start his mushroom and spinach curry.

“Sweetheart,” Greg said, “Eat your dinner.  We don’t have to discuss this any further right now.”

Mycroft gave himself a little shake and picked up his cutlery, a hint of smile playing around his lips.

 

* * *

  

It was another week before the subject was raised again, surprisingly by Mycroft.  The couple were relaxing in the lounge after dinner, glasses of whiskey in hand and some soft piano music playing in the background.

“Gregory,” started Mycroft hesitantly, “the other week at dinner, you asked my thoughts on having a child.”

Greg started to speak but Mycroft held up a hand to stop him, “Please, just let me say this.”

Greg nodded for Mycroft to continue.

“At dinner you said you thought the subject had been on my mind and well, you were correct. As long as I’ve known you I’ve been aware of how close you are to Jenny and Claire, what a large part they play in your life, and rightly so.”

Mycroft took a sip of his whiskey, his hand showing the slightest tremor, a sure sign of how nervous this conversation was making him.

“As our relationship grew I realised I was experiencing some feelings of jealousy and at first I told myself I was jealous of the affection you showed the girls, of the time you spent with them. However I quickly came to realise I was not jealous of them, I was in fact jealous of you.”

Greg couldn’t remain silent any longer, “Jealous of me, what on earth for?”

Mycroft placed a calming hand on Greg’s knee, “Jealous of the fact that you had these amazing children, that you had experienced the joy of watching them grow up into lovely young women. Jealous that you had someone to love unconditionally and who would always love you.”

Greg was taken aback at the words. When he’d started to think that Mycroft might want children he had assumed that it would be because of some desire to carry on his family name, to see his legacy continue.  He had no idea that what Mycroft really craved was a child to love and to be loved by.

Greg pulled Mycroft into his arms and peppered kisses along his forehead.

“God I love you, you adorable man. Why didn’t you talk to me about this, tell me that you wanted children,” he asked.

“I really never thought it would be an option,” Mycroft replied, his voice shaking slightly, “I still don’t think it is Greg. There are too many obstacles.”

Greg hugged Mycroft tighter, “Mycroft Holmes, there has never been an obstacle which you could not overcome.  If this is something you want, something we both want, we can make it happen.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just letting the words sink in, the spark of possibility in the air.

After a while Greg broke the silence, “How about this.  I know someone who excels at researching options and putting a plan together. Why don’t we task them with putting together a proposal for Operation Baby Holmes?”

Mycroft pulled back to a sitting position, “You can’t possibly mean…”

“I do,” interrupted Greg, “you know Anthea is the ideal candidate to handle this.”

“If you think I will be asking a staff member to investigate something so personal, so private…” spluttered Mycroft.

Greg laughed, “Relax Mycroft, she’s the soul of discretion, who do you think made sure our honeymoon suite was stocked with your favourite flavoured lubes?”

 

* * *

  

Another two weeks passed and, apart from confirming that he had indeed tasked Anthea with researching the ‘question’ for him, Mycroft would not speak any further on the subject. More than once Greg found him staring off in to space, a smile dancing around his lips. Greg took it as a good sign. He knew Mycroft would look for any and all reasons why this was a bad idea, Greg just hoped he was also thinking of all the many reasons it was an excellent idea.  He had surprised himself at how quickly he had come round to the decision that he did in fact want to have another child.  Of course he wanted Mycroft to experience the joy that fatherhood could bring, but he also found himself daydreaming about holding a tiny baby in his arms, the indescribable feelings of love and fear and protectiveness that being a parent brought.

When he received a message from Mycroft inviting him to join him at his Whitehall office Greg wasn’t in the least surprised. He knew Mycroft would come at this like any other work problem, discussing it soberly over coffee and biscuits.  A far cry from the drunken night that Greg and Rebecca had agreed to chuck out the birth control and go for it, a decision which resulted in Claire being born 9 months later.

When he arrived at the office Greg was surprised to find Anthea would be sitting in on the ‘meeting’ with them.  Greg had assumed Mycroft would have digested the information she brought him and then relayed it to Greg.  It seemed that she would be playing a larger part in their decision making process than Greg was entirely comfortable with.

“No offence Anthea,” he said as he took a seat in front of Mycroft’s desk, “but I think this is something Mycroft and I should discuss alone.”

She gave him a withering look and proceeded to hook her laptop up to the flat screen display on the wall.

Mycroft came round the desk and gave Greg a gentle kiss on the lips, “I know this might make you uncomfortable but I really feel we need to hear all the facts and as you yourself said, there’s no one better at putting a plan together.”

Greg huffed but nodded  his acquiescence as Mycroft took the seat beside him, allowing Anthea to position herself behind the desk.

“Thank you Mr Holmes, now if you’d both like to open the folders in front of you I have outlined 5 separate options.”

What followed was an intense two hours where Greg learned more about surrogacy, egg donors, embryos and sperm selection than he had ever wanted to know.  Anthea had, as expected, done an excellent job and when she finished Greg’s head was reeling with the different options available to them.  Turning to look at Mycroft his heart plummeted.  Mycroft had tears rolling down his cheeks, an expression of utter loss on his face.  Greg was up and out of his chair immediately, kneeling before Mycroft, grasping his hands,

“Mycroft, sweetheart, what is it?” he begged.

Mycroft shook his head sadly, “It’s just too much Greg, I can’t ask you to go through with this, it’s so risky, what if I’m wrong, what if I don’t really want to be a father?”

Greg moved his hands to cradle Mycroft’s face, his thumbs rubbing away the tears.

“Mycroft listen to me.  I want you to close your eyes,” said Greg.

Mycroft looked at him quizzically before closing his eyes as requested.

“Okay, now just listen to me. I want you to imagine holding a tiny little baby in your arms, our baby, can you do that for me?”

Mycroft nodded his head slowly, a slight smile forming.

“Okay, now keep your eyes closed. Now imagine that child at 3am, screaming at the top of its lungs, and nothing you can do will soothe them.”

Mycroft nodded again, his expression turning serious once more.

“And now imagine a 3 year old who has just poured juice all over your handmade Italian leather shoes and is laughing maniacally as you tell them off.”

Mycroft started to laugh softly.

“Keep your eyes closed sweetheart, we’re not done yet.  Now imagine a teenager, screaming that they hate you, you’ve ruined their life and they’ll never forgive you, all because you won’t let them get a tattoo.”

The smile on Mycroft’s face grew larger.

“And finally, imagine watching a 1 year old take their first faltering steps into your outstretched arms, a 5 year old cuddled in to you as you read them Shakespeare and Milton and Dickens, a 17 year old hugging you after they’ve passed their driving test that you helped them prepare for.”

Greg took hold of Mycroft’s hands, “Now tell me honestly, do you want to see those images become reality?”

Mycroft took a deep breath keeping his eyes closed as he softly answered,

“Yes. I do. I really do.”

Greg stood up and pulled Mycroft into his arms, holding him as he sobbed gently.  Behind them Anthea slipped out of the office, wiping away a tear as she went.

 

* * *

  

On April 1st Greg and Mycroft sat nervously in the office of the private fertility clinic they had chosen to reach out to in an effort to have a child.  Greg couldn’t help but think the date was a bit ominous.  He kept expecting Mycroft to admit this had all been some elaborate joke. One look at Mycroft dispelled any such thought. Greg had never seen Mycroft so nervous, he was white as a sheet and kept twisting his wedding band round and round on his finger.  Greg reached over and took his hand, giving him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Try to relax love, it’s all going to be fine,” whispered Greg.  Something about doctors offices always made him lower his voice.

Mycroft gave him a panicked look, “What if they say no, what if they decide we’re not suitable candidates?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Greg replied, “we couldn’t be more perfect. An extremely senior civil servant and a Detective Chief Inspector with the Met. What more could they want? Anyway, with the amount of money we’re paying them they should be on their hands and knees thanking us.”

Mycroft’s retort died on his lips as the door opened and their assigned doctor arrived.

“Mr Holmes, Detective Chief Inspector Lestrade, it really is a pleasure to meet with you today,” said the doctor, shaking both their hands.

Greg gave Mycroft his patented ‘I told you so look’ before turning his attention to the doctor.

“So I understand you already have a surrogate in place,” Dr Silvester asked.

“That’s correct,” replied Mycroft, “however we would like her to be a gestational surrogate.”

Dr Silvester nodded his understanding and retrieved a thick folder from his desk drawer.

“This is a catalogue of our available egg donors, listing their physical attributes and an outline of their education levels, hobbies, interests, that sort of thing.” he explained as he handed the folder to Mycroft.

Greg laughed nervously, “So a bit like an argos catalogue then.”

The doctor laughed good naturedly, “That’s one way to look at it I suppose.  The next question is have you decided who is providing the sperm sample.

Mycroft frowned slightly, “Ah, that’s a bit of a contentious issue.  I feel that Gregory is the obvious choice.  He already has two children so we know he is fertile…”

Greg interrupted, “The fact that I have 2 children is exactly why you should be the one Mycroft. I want our baby to be a part of you, for you to have that connection.”

The Doctor held up his hand, halting what could clearly turn quickly in to an argument.

“Perhaps I have the answer, we have actually had success in the past with combining the samples of two males. If fertilisation is successful we have no way of knowing who the biological father is until the child is born and a DNA test can be carried out.  Any such test would obviously be at your discretion.”

Greg and Mycroft looked at each other, an understanding passing silently between them, before Greg replied, “I think that sounds like an ideal solution.”

 

* * *

  

When they emerged into the weak April sunshine after their appointment Mycroft was uncharacteristically quiet. Greg steered him in to the little park that sat opposite the clinic, finding a bench for them to sit on.

“Everything okay love,” he asked.

Mycroft looked into his eyes before his face broke in to an enormous grin.

“I just can’t quite believe this is actually happening,” he replied, “we’re actually doing this, we’re going have a baby.”

Greg was happy to see Mycroft so excited but he felt the need for caution.

“I agree it’s amazing love, but don’t forget what the doctor said.  It doesn’t always work on the first attempt. We need to be prepared for the long haul.”

Mycroft did his best to look serious, but he couldn’t keep the smile from his face, “I know, I know, it’s just I can’t stop thinking that this time next year we could have a little Holmes-Lestrade to look after.”

Greg couldn’t help but get caught up in his husbands infectious good humour, although there was still one issue that needed to be dealt with.  Greg steeled himself as he asked the all important question.

“Who’s going to tell Sherlock?”

 

* * *

  

Greg opened the door to the pub, wrinkling his nose slightly at the smell that greeted him.  Stale beer and sweat was never appealing, particularly not at 11am on a Thursday Morning.  Mercifully it was quiet, one of the reasons he’d chosen it.  He didn’t want any interruptions when he had this conversation.  He’d just ordered drinks at the bar and taken them to a quiet table at the back when John Watson walked in.

“John,” Greg called out, “over here.”

John greeted Greg and took the other seat at the table.

“Bit early for those isn't it Greg?” asked John, indicating the two half pints on the table.

“I think we both might need them for this conversation.”

John’s expression turned serious, clearly expecting to hear some bad news.

“Look, I assume whatever it is you’re going to tell me is the same reason Mycroft has summoned Sherlock to his office, so tell me, is one of you dying?” asked John bluntly.

Greg coughed a little on the sip of beer he’d just taken, “Jesus no John, nothing like that.  It’s good news, I promise.  I suppose I’d better just get to the point.  Mycroft and I are having a baby.”

It was John’s turn to choke on his pint, a good deal of it ending up down the front of his shirt.

“You what! A baby!” he spluttered, “I mean how...why….when?”

Greg took a long draught of his pint, realising this might not be the easiest of conversations.

“Look it’s not that complicated,” explained Greg, “We want to have a baby so we’ve sorted out a surrogate.  If all goes to plan we hope to welcome our little one early next year.”

“Really, that soon?” asked John

“No point hanging around, neither of us are exactly spring chickens.  Look we haven’t rushed in to this, we’ve had a lot of long, difficult discussions, but the bottom line is we want to have a baby, and this is the way we’re doing it.”

John looked at Greg thoughtfully before raising his pint glass in a toast, “Well in that case congratulations to you both.”

Greg clinked his own glass against John’s, “Thanks mate, although maybe hold off on the congratulations, we’re only just starting the process. We haven’t even provided our _samples_ yet.”

“Too much information Greg,” protested John, “Just tell me when to turn up with a congratulatory cigar.”

 

* * *

  

When Greg got home on Thursday evening he found the house in darkness.  He’d thought Mycroft would be home by now and was just about to check his phone for messages when he noticed a light shining under the bedroom door.  He entered the toom to be met with the sight of Mycroft lying on their bed, fully clothed, a damp flannel covering his eyes.

“So meeting with Sherlock went well then?” asked Greg as he sat down at the head of the bed and gently began stroking Mycroft’s hair.

“It actually went surprisingly well,” replied Mycroft, “he just insisted on knowing every little detail about the procedure. I was with him for over 3 hours.”

Greg laughed, “My god, I definitely got the easier option then.  John didn’t want to know anything, was happy for us though.”

Mycroft pulled the flannel away from  his eyes and looked up at Greg with a pained expression, “I was forced to go into extreme levels of detail regarding what exactly would happen to our sperm samples. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get an erection again.”

“Christ Mycroft, don’t talk to me about erections and Sherlock in the same conversation,” replied Greg, “but in general he was supportive of the idea?”

“Oh very much so, although he’s supremely disappointed that we’ve chosen to have no contact with our surrogate, he claims we are denying him the perfect opportunity to study the intricacies of pregnancy and childbirth.”

Greg looked horrified, “You do realise we cannot let him near the baby. Under no circumstances is he turning our child into a science experiment.”

 

* * *

  

The 18th May was one of the first really warm days they’d enjoyed so far this spring. Greg was feeling positively cheery as he walked up the path to the house after work, his jacket slung over his arm, tie long since consigned to his pocket.  When he opened the door he was surprised to see Mycroft’s jacket and shoes in the hall.  He hadn’t been expecting him home until much later, knew he had some important conference call scheduled. He shucked his own shoes and headed towards the kitchen where he found Mycroft standing at the counter, two little white specimen pots sitting in front of him.  He looked up as Greg came in to the room, an excited look in his eyes.

“Ah,” Greg said, eyeing the little pots, “so I take it our _samples_ are required then?”

“Dr Silvester rang this afternoon, the surrogate is due to be ovulating within the next few days so it’s the optimum time for insemination. We need to get our sperm samples to him within the next 24 hours for implantation.”

Greg grimaced, he could never quite get used to all this talk of ovulation and insemination and implantation.

“Well then I suppose we’d best get it over with,” he said as he walked over and picked up one of the pots.

“Oh right, yes…. we should just get to it then,” replied Mycroft, his expression falling.

Greg realised immediately that he’d disappointed Mycroft.  If all went well this could be the first step on their journey towards fatherhood together, and he was treating it like some unenviable chore.  Realising his mistake he lifted the second pot from the counter and turned to face Mycroft.

“Okay, just give me ten minutes and then join me in the bedroom sweetheart,” he said before kissing Mycroft gently on the cheek and heading out of the kitchen.

When Mycroft entered their room after ten minutes had passed he was welcomed by the sight of Greg lying naked on their bed, the room bathed in candlelight, tea lights lining every available surface.

“Why don’t you get undressed love, and come join me on the bed,” Greg all but purred at him.

Mycroft started to hurriedly undress, but Greg had other ideas.

“Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast sexy, I want you to strip for me, slowly. Let me enjoy seeing you bare your skin for me.”

Mycroft blushed furiously, even after all these years together it seemed he still found it hard to believe that Greg found him so alluring.  Doing his best to go slowly he unbuttoned his shirt with trembling hands.

“That’s it baby,” Greg encouraged, “God you’re so gorgeous, I can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

As he spoke Greg’s hand travelled down his body and took hold of his cock which was already rising stiffly from his groin.  Mycroft couldn’t tear his eyes away from Greg’s lazy stroking, his mouth watering at the delicious sight in front of him.

Once he was naked Mycroft stood at the end of the bed, allowing Greg to gaze hungrily at his body, his cock hard and bouncing slightly at the attention. Greg knelt up on the bed and beckoned for Mycroft to join him.  They met in the middle of the bed, Greg’s hands pulling Mycroft’s body hard against his own, their erections rubbing deliciously against each other. Greg ducked his head and began to lick and suck at Mycroft’s neck, knowing how much it turned his husband on.  Mycroft stretched his neck sinuously, allowing Greg to lick broad stripes along his adams apple.  Shuddering at the sensation Mycroft sank his hands into Greg’s hair and pulled him into a bruising kiss.   Greg groaned as he opened his mouth and felt Mycroft’s tongue teasing along his lips, before licking it’s way into his mouth.  All the while they were grinding their cocks together, Greg’s hands clutching at Mycroft’s hips, pulling them closer and closer together.  Feeling the wetness of their precome Greg realised they’d have to be careful not to get too carried away.  There was an important purpose to this after all.  He broke away from Mycroft and lay back, propped up against the pillows.  He pulled Mycroft towards him, motioning for him to turn around and lie between his legs.  Double checking that the pots were within reaching distance, Greg wrapped his arms around Mycroft and brought his hands down, trailing his fingertips up and down Mycroft’s shaft. Mycroft squirmed, raising his hips towards Greg’s hands, seeking more.  Greg took pity on him and gripped his cock firmly in one hand, the other stroking softly across his abdomen. Mycroft let out a low moan as Greg began to work his cock, stroking it deftly from root to tip with long, slow strokes. Mycroft turned his head seeking out Greg’s lips for a desperate kiss,  panting into his mouth  as the sensations built in his groin.  Greg’s stroking gained speed and he added that little twist to the head of Mycroft’s penis that he knew drove him wild.  Sure enough Mycroft’s moans became louder as precome pooled at his tip. Greg allowed it to gather before swiping his thumb through it, spreading it over Mycroft’s shaft.  The added lubrication made Greg’s hand glide more smoothly, sliding up and down, faster and faster, bringing Mycroft closer to the edge.  When Mycroft began to mutter a litany of words like more and please and fuck, Greg knew he was close.  Greg was getting close himself.  The sight of Mycroft lost in his own pleasure, trusting Greg to take care of him, his emotions showing so clearly on his face.  Greg loved to see him like this, loved that he could reduce the normally stoic Mycroft to a whimpering mess of lust.  The whimpering had stopped now though, Mycroft had thrown his head back against Greg's shoulder, his eyes screwed shut.  Greg quickly pulled the specimen pot out from under the pillow, thanking all the gods above he’d remembered to take off the lid, and brought it to the tip of Mycroft’s cock.  With one last twist of Greg’s hand Mycroft’s whole body tensed and he groaned Greg’s name as he came. Managing to catch the spurts in the pot, Greg milked Mycroft’s cock, ensuring he collected every last drop.  

Without giving Mycroft any time to enjoy his relaxed state after his climax, Greg pushed him away and scrabbled under the pillow for the lid of the pot, twisting it on securely.  He quickly grabbed the second pot and kneeling up he started to jerk himself furiously, holding the pot under his cock.  Within moments he came long and hard, his hands shaking as he struggled to direct the ejaculate into the pot.  He got the lid screwed on before falling back onto the bed.

Mycroft looked at him, a stunned expression on his face.  Greg waited until his heart rate had stopped racing before he could speak.

“Oh my god, I’m sorry love, I was so close to coming when you did,” he explained. “I didn’t want to have to scrape my sample off your back.”

Mycroft couldn’t help but laugh, “Oh Greg, and I thought this was going to be a lovely romantic experience to look back on.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry, and now we can’t even snuggle, we need to get the samples to the clinic,” Greg groaned, “I’m gonna need a few minutes at least to calm down enough to drive.”

Mycroft looked away from Greg, a guilty expression on his face, “Eh, actually that won’t be necessary, I have made arrangements for it to be delivered.”

“What arrangements exactly,” asked Greg, “I’m not going to have to answer the door to Anthea when it’s clear we’ve just been knocking one out?”

Mycroft sighed, “What a delightful way you have with words Gregory.  And no you will not have to open the door. Well not the front door anyway, Anthea is currently in the lounge awaiting the _package_.”

Greg gaped at Mycroft, “Do you mean to tell me that she is already here….. in our house….. and has been here whilst we have been doing that?”

“Now, now Greg, you’re the one who assured me she was the soul of discretion.”

 

* * *

  

The following 4 weeks, as they waited for news, seemed to drag by. Greg did his best to keep Mycroft distracted, even going so far as to ask Anthea to keep his schedule as busy as possible.  Unfortunately it was turning out to be a particularly quiet time for UK and world politics.  Greg never thought he’d be cursing Donald Trump for _not_ causing a diplomatic incident.

He was also cursing the fact that everytime they left they house they seemed to be surrounded by babies.  They couldn’t walk down their quiet street without encountering at least one pram-pushing mother or a new dad proudly toting his offspring in the ubiquitous Baby Bjorn carrier.  Every trip out had to be planned with military precision, routes planned around passing the least number of parks and playgrounds. Favored cafes and pubs rejected as they proved to be too ‘family friendly’.   

Dr Silvester had informed them that the first day a test could be done was 7th June. A date which was marked on their kitchen calendar and scheduled in their phones (even Mycroft’s top secret - only for work, don’t you even think about downloading Candy Crush on to it Gregory - phone).  Ironic then that on the day itself Greg had completely forgotten about it.

He wasn’t entirely to blame.  When the morning of the 7th dawned Greg had been up for just over 48 hours, a gruesome triple murder keeping his entire team chasing their tails for days now. They’d just had a breakthrough, as usual courtesy of one Sherlock Holmes, and by 11am it looked like Greg might actually be able to grab forty winks.  Heading to his office with no intention other than collapsing on his battered old sofa, he fished his mobile out of his pocket, not at all surprised to find the battery dead. Entering the office he walked to his desk to get his charger, frowning as he noticed what had to be at least 30 post-it notes stuck over the surface of his desk, on his computer monitor, one even stuck in the middle of the framed wedding photo of him and Mycroft.  As he got close enough to read them his heart stopped.  Each and everyone had the same message scrawled on it.

**CALL MYCROFT**

Greg frantically grabbed for his desk phone, his hand trembling as he dialled Mycroft’s number.  The phone barely rang before it was answered.

“I am so, so sorry sweetheart, I was out at the case and…..”

Mycroft interrupted Greg’s apologies, “It’s okay Greg, I understand, can you just come home please, now?”

“Mycroft, please talk to me, what’s happening, did the doctor ring?”

“Please Gregory, just come home now,” Mycroft pleaded softly.

Greg was petrified and feared the worst, “I’m on my way sweetheart, I love you.”

Mycroft didn’t answer, just disconnected the call.

 

* * *

  

Greg didn’t think twice about putting the sirens on as he raced home, consequences be damned.  The brakes squealing as he pulled up outside their house, just barely getting a wheel up on the pavement.  He scrambled out and up the steps, trying to get his key in the lock but failing miserably in his haste.  Just when he was about to give up and start kicking the door down it swung open to reveal Mycroft standing there, his expression strangely blank.

All the adrenaline left Greg’s body and he was left shaking on the doorstep until Mycroft took his hands and pulled him into the hallway.

“Greg, Dr Silvester rang, they did a pregnancy test this morning….” Mycroft’s voice broke, his eyes filling with tears that threatened to spill over in an instant, “it was positive, we’re, we’re going to have a baby.”

Greg fell to his knees, relief and joy coursing through him.  Mycroft lowered himself to the floor and gathered Greg up in his arms, rubbing soothing circles on his back.

“I know it’s extremely early days,” Mycroft whispered into Greg’s hair, “and I know so much could still go wrong, we need to be cautious and not get too excited….”

Greg lifted his head and cut off Mycroft’s words with a gentle kiss to his lips.  He pulled back and let Mycroft see the unconfined joy on his face, a joy which Mycroft’s own expression quickly mirrored.

“It’s going to be okay Mycroft, the baby is going to be fine and you are going to be the most amazing father ever.  It’s okay to allow yourself to be happy about this, to feel excited.”

“We. We are going to be the most amazing fathers ever,” Mycroft promised him before kissing Greg long and hard.

When they finally broke apart Greg started muttering under his breath and counting on his fingers, “So if we have a positive test today that means the baby is due on…”

“Valentines Day,”

Greg started laughing, “Perfect, what better valentine’s present could we get each other than a little bundle of love.”

 

* * *

  

The next nine months passed in a blur of scan pictures, growth measurements and recordings of heartbeats. The guest bedroom next to the master was turned into a beautiful nursery, decorated in neutral tones.  Despite Sherlock’s constant requests for more information, more data on the baby, Greg and Mycroft had decided against finding out the baby’s sex.

Before they knew it 14th February had arrived but as yet there was no sign of baby Holmes-Lestrade making an appearance.

“You do know a baby is only born on it’s due date in 4% of cases,” Mycroft replied to Greg’s incessant questioning about why labour hadn’t started yet.

“Been doing a bit of research have you?” asked Greg testily.  He was on edge and frustrated, feelings he well remembered from when the girls were born.

“Gregory, I’m as eager as you to meet our little one, but getting frustrated and lashing out at me isn’t going to make it happen any more quickly.”

“I’m sorry love, I know, I guess I just had it built up in my head that today would be the day.”

Mycroft checked his watch, “Well it’s already 7pm, even if labour were to start now it could be hours before the baby is actually born. Now how would you feel about pouring us both a glass of talisker and we can try to relax and enjoy the rest of our valentine's day together.”

The couple had just sat down and enjoyed the first sips of their whiskey when Mycroft’s phone started buzzing.  Almost knocking over his whiskey in his haste Mycroft grabbed it from the coffee table.

“Ah hello, Mr Holmes, Dr Silvester here.  Could you and DCI Lestrade make your way to the clinic?”

“Of course,” replied Mycroft, already up and heading out to the hall, “is everything ok, has labour started?”

“Everything is fine Mr Holmes, I just thought you would both like to come and meet your baby.”

Mycroft stopped so abruptly in the hall that Greg walked straight in to his back.

“What do you mean, _meet our baby_?” Mycroft demanded, quickly switching the phone to speaker so Greg could listen in.

“Well exactly that, the baby is here safe and sound.  An extremely quick labour, we didn’t even have time to let you know.  Would you like to know what you have?”

“No, no, no,” Greg shouted, “We’re on our way.”

 

* * *

  

Greg and Mycroft were led in to a small, tastefully decorated room in the clinic.  The lights had been dimmed and a beautiful patchwork blanket had been draped over the rocking chair in the corner. They were left alone for a few moments before a nurse returned, a tiny bundle of blankets in her arms.  She indicated that one of them should take a seat in the rocking chair and Greg gently nudged Mycroft over.  When he was sitting comfortably the nurse placed the bundle into his arms.

Greg’s eyes filled with tears as he watched his husband holding their child.  Mycroft instinctively cradled the baby’s head, supporting its back with his other arm, a natural.

“Congratulations,” the nurse whispered, “he’s an absolutely beautiful baby.”

Mycroft looked up at Greg, his eyes wet with unshed tears.

“A boy?” he questioned.

“Our son,” Greg responded, kneeling down beside them and looking at his son for the first time.

The nurse was right, Greg had never seen anything more beautiful.  His face was so delicate, perfect little rosebud lips and big blue eyes, all topped off with a dusting of gorgeous red hair.

Mycroft couldn’t tear his eyes away, tears now silently running down his face.  Greg grabbed a tissue from the box on the table and reached up to wipe them away.

“He’s perfect Mycroft, our beautiful boy.”

Mycroft took a deep shuddering breath, “I didn’t think it was possible to love something so strongly, so instantly.”

Greg knew exactly what Mycroft meant.  He had felt that rush of love with both his daughters, and now he was feeling it all over again.  

The nurse coughed discreetly, “I’ll leave you three alone now, if you need anything just press the little buzzer by the door here.”

Mycroft gave a half-hearted goodbye, his attention focused entirely on his son, stroking his fingers over the impossibly tiny hands peeking out from the blanket.

Thanking the nurse Greg brought his own hand up to gently stroke the baby’s head.

“I guess we don’t need any DNA tests after all.  There’s no denying that red hair,” said Greg, smiling as he thought of the one baby picture of Mycroft that he’d been permitted to see, when he had had the most gorgeous auburn hair.

Mycroft couldn’t hide the smile that Greg’s words brought and Greg felt like his heart was expanding with happiness. He knew Mycroft would have loved the baby fiercely no matter which of them was the actual father, but Greg knew the feelings that came with watching a little piece of yourself grow and develop and he was overjoyed that Mycroft would get to experience that.

“Sweetheart,” Greg whispered as little blue eyes blinked sleepily up at them, “this little guy needs a name. I know we didn’t actually come to a firm decision so I want you to pick.”

Mycroft gazed down at his son, the love he felt plainly obvious.

“How would you feel about Rowan?” he asked

Greg was surprised, he’d been sure Mycroft would choose something a bit more esoteric.

“Rowan,” he mused, “I like it, it suits him. I haven’t heard you mention it before, what made you choose it?”

Mycroft gently stroked Rowan’s head, “It just came to me. It means little red head.”

“Well then it’s perfect,” agreed Greg.

“Well little Rowan,” Mycroft addressed the baby, “I think it’s time daddy had a chance to meet you properly.”

Greg stood up and lifted Rowan from Mycroft’s arms, marvelling at how tiny he was.  Mycroft rose from the chair and guided Greg down to sit in it.  He walked over to the bag he had insisted on bringing with him.  As Greg watched he returned and sat on the sofa beside the rocking chair, a book clutched in his hand.  Greg lifted an enquiring eyebrow.

“I don’t know if you recall, but I told you about how I used to read to Sherlock as a baby.”

“Mycroft,” Greg asked with a note of teasing, “is this were you introduce our hours old baby to the complete works of Shakespeare?”

Mycroft smiled and shook his head, “Not quite, no.  There was one other book which I enjoyed reading, and Sherlock seemed to like it too.  I thought it would be nice to share it with Rowan.”

He opened the book and began to read,

_“Chapter 1. In which we are introduced to Winnie-the-Pooh and some bees, and the stories begin….”_

Greg looked down at Rowan and let Mycroft's soothing voice wash over him, his heart bursting with love and joy.  When he’d met Mycroft he’d never imagined he would fall in love with him, when he fell in love he never imagined he would marry him, and when he married him he never, in his wildest dreams imagined having a child with him.  Now, cradling his newborn son in his arms, watching his eyes drift shut, listening to Mycroft reading a much loved children’s book, Greg thanked his lucky stars for whatever twists of fate had brought him here.

Leaning down he brushed a soft kiss against Rowan’s forehead.

“Happy Valentines Day my beautiful boys”.

 

**The End**

 

**Author's Note:**

> I have no personal experience of surrogacy or artificial insemination so apologies if I have made any glaring errors.


End file.
